To Ridicule a Riddle
by 0041523
Summary: ..."So, Voldemort took Morfin's wand and killed the Riddles?" said Harry, sitting up straight. "That's it," said Dumbledore. The night of the Riddles' murder. Through Tom Riddle Senior's eyes. Rated 'T' for murder and language.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or its sequels.

A/N: Any text inside two *'s and _italic_izedare straight from HBP.

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Title: To Ridicule a Riddle

Summary: *_'So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it_* to kill the Riddles?' *_said Harry, sitting up straight. 'That's right,' said Dumbledore._* The night Tom Riddle Sr. died, through his eyes.

Rating: T for merciless killing.

Beta'd By: Amazing-Abbie

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**Tom Riddle Sr.**

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_You have no enemies, you say? _

_Alas, my friend, the boast is poor._

_He who has mingled in the fray of duty_

_that the brave endure, must have made foes._

_If you have none, small is the work that you have done._

_You've hit no traitor on the hip._

_You've dashed no cup from perjured lip._

_You've never turned the wrong to right._

_You've been a coward in the fight. _

~ Charles MacKay

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Tom Riddle sat down at the table to eat with his parents. After sixteen years, he still hadn't found a wife. After _her_ he found it difficult to trust. Who knew what strange things women had up their sleeves.

Of course, he hadn't told his mother and father what _really _happened after his return. After leaving that disgusting _witch_. He did not want to be placed in the mad house.

For years, Tom had done his best to forget about _her_ and that _thing_ she would bear, who would, without a doubt, end up like its mother. A demon child, he had created. Tom repressed a shudder at the thought. It would probably end up looking like its mother.

At times, Tom couldn't help but wonder what happened to that wretched woman and her spawn. Were they alive? Dead, perhaps? He desperately hoped for the latter.

'_It would do good for the word, so she can't terrorize anymore men.'_

Though these thoughts were always short and long in-between. He rarely thought about _them_.

"Dear, would you pass the potatoes?" his gray-haired mother asked. He silently handed her the potatoes.

The Riddle's ate in silence, something that was common after Tom's elopement and return. It was not quite peaceful, but not overly tense either. It was like eating with acquaintances. The all too familiar silence seemed to become even more tense, darker, perhaps. His father was peering over Tom's shoulder, his eyes narrowed, his mother; frozen with fear, her dark eyes widening at the sight before her. Tom turned to see what they were staring at.

A tall figure in a black cloak stood in the dining room entrance, the hood covering more than half its face, was smirking rather evilly at the Riddle family.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" Tom's father asked, in what seemed to be a powerful voice. However, the cloaked person did not agree, for he threw his head back laughed – a high cold laugh.

"Don't waste time with questions you do not wish to hear the answer to, Muggle," the man said in a soft, malicious voice. This person couldn't have been older than seventeen. From the cloak, he pulled out what seemed to be a polished twig. He pointed it at the table and said in the same soft voice, but with pure, utter conviction. '_Evanesco'. _The table vanished.

Tom's mother shrieked, his father; words seemed to evade him. Tom, however, began to shake with terror.

This child, was one of _her _kind. He knew it. Slowly, Tom turned to the _thing_. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice shaking. He hoped the child would assume it was because of anger. Apparently, he didn't, because he laughed again.

"Nothing of importance, just your lives, practically worthless when you think about it, correct?" the tone of the unknown stranger's voice never changed from its soft harshness.

Tom wished he would yell, it wouldn't have been as unsettling. The way he spoke now felt like Satan's caress.

The person stepped forward, and Tom's mother shrieked again. The boy whipped his cloaked face towards her. He raised his – Tom gulped – _wand_ and pointed it to her. His father was frozen on spot, as did Tom. Mrs. Riddle wailed louder than ever.

"Enough," the boy whispered. She continued to scream.

And then, Tom screamed, "Don't kill her! Do not go near my mother!"

The boy turned towards Tom, a smirk evident on his face. "Alright then, I won't kill her," he said, but still pointed the wand to her. "Shall I try something else instead?" Tom's eyes were wide as he watched the boy advance towards her.

"Do _not _go near her! Do you hear me, boy?" Mr. Riddle bellowed. The boy continued to smirk.

"That's fine then," he said indifferently. With the wand still pointed at Mrs. Riddle, – who was now reduced to sobs – he yelled; '_Crucio!_'.

The sudden crescendo of his voice would have frightened Tom, if it hadn't been for his mother, who was screaming and twitching in agony.

The boy began to laugh, that same high pitched, cold laugh, though this time, it had a slight maniacal edge.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Mr. Riddle shrieked as well, rushing towards his twitching wife.

The boy stopped laughing immediately. "Very well then, _Avada Kedavra!"_ a beam of green light shot out of the wand, hitting Mrs. Riddle squarely in the chest. The impact threw her across the floor, where she lay, completely motionless, with her bulging eyes unfocused, her wrinkled face contorted in what seemed to be agony and shock.

Mr. Riddle looked up at the boy, completely terrified. "What did you do –" he was cut off but another shriek of _'Avada Kedavra'._

And to Tom's utter horror, there lay his father, beside his mother, dead.

Tom slowly turned back the cackling boy in the black cloak. 'Wh-who are you?' he asked, not hiding his fear this time. He glanced at his dead mother and father.

"Who am I?" the boy returned to his soft voice. "Who am I?" he asked again, though louder. He suddenly whipped off the hood of his cloak, finally revealing a surprisingly handsome face.

Tom gasped and spluttered. It was like looking in a mirror. There, standing before him was a carbon copy of himself at sixteen. The same dark hair, dark eyes and facial features, though the boy's were twisted in what seemed to be _sinister revulsion_.

"_Father,"_ he sneered it, as if it was a dirty word. "Don't you recognize your _son_?" he sneered 'son' as well.

Tom didn't know what to say, so he just stared. The boy continued on. "I, am Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Something seemed to snap inside Tom Sr. "Did that whore send you here? So you could hoodwink me again?" he sneered, though it was nothing in comparison to his son's.

Tom Sr. wasn't sure, it may have been a trick of the light, but he was almost positive that his comment had affected his _son_ in some way. Perhaps he imagined the anger that flashed in his eyes, when he called his _mother_ a whore.

Tom Jr. threw his head back and cackled again. "You see, _father_, my mother's dying wishes came true. Do you know what they were?" he whispered, stepping closer to his father. Standing nearly nose-nose, he was exactly his father's height.

Tom Sr. gulped nervously. His son smirked. "Her first wish, was for me to look like you." he waited a moment to let that sink in. Tom Jr. circled his father, his cloak _swish_ed around him, before turning to look out the window, into the night sky.

"Her second, was for me to be named after you, and my _grandfather_ of course." he sneered the word 'grandfather' too.

Tom Jr. whipped around to face his own father. "You tarnish my name, _father,"_ he whispered.

Tom Sr. attempted to lie his way through, something he was usually very good at. Usually. "If I had kn-known she was pregnant at the time, I-I wouldn't've left, son." it pained him to say the word 'son'.

Tom Jr. laughed again. "Such lies, you tell, _such liesssss,"_ Tom Sr. didn't understand the last words, they were hissed in a strange, terrifying way.

"You knew she was pregnant, _father_, and you still left. Did you think nothing of us? Nothing of _me_?" he spoke as if he was talking about the weather.

Still smirking he continued. "She died because of you, only lived long enough to name me. I was then abandoned at that vile orphanage. You know the one, it's right across town," Tom Sr., did in fact know the orphanage, he walked past it a generous amount of times in the past sixteen years. He never thought that a child of his own would be living in there.

"Your _mother _deserved to die. She was a liar –" he was cut off.

"Enough!" his son bellowed, turning to look at him again. "I, a direct descendent and the heir of Slytherin, went to school assuming that my father was a great man – a great wizard. That my mother was the weak one, having succumbed to something as pathetic as _death_! And then! To find that my father was nothing more than a filthy _Muggle_?!" Tom Jr. continued to scream.

Tom still didn't know what to say.

And then, his son's voice went abruptly soft. "As I said before, you tarnish my name, _father_, I think that needs to be fixed."

Tom began to stall for time, perhaps, his son would lose interest. "I-if you wanted me de-" he choked on the word. "If you wanted me dead, why did you kill my p-parents?"

Tom Jr, cackled again. "For many different reasons. One, they raised you, which is a heinous crime all in its own, and two, I grew up with out parents, why should yours live?" Tom Jr. shrugged.

"Now _father_, I must make this quicker, you see, the _orphanage_ has a curfew." Tom Jr. raised his wand, directly at his father ... who fell to his knees and sobbed.

Tom Jr. smirked as he begged for his life. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Have mercy, son! I will make it up to you!" he wailed.

He laughed and shook his head in disgust. "Only a _Muggle,_ would sink as low as to beg on his life on his knees."

He raised his wand at his father and yelled, '_Avada Kedavra!'_.

Tom heard a rushing sound, and saw the sinister green light aim between his eyes, then ...

Nothing.

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**Lord Voldemort**

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_"Time is not what you think. _

_Dying? Not the end of everything. _

_We think it is. _

_But what happens on earth is only the beginning." _

~ Mitch Albom _Five People You Meet in Heaven

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_

Voldemort stepped over his father's carcass and proceeded back to the Gaunts' to complete his plan. He was going to frame the gorilla-esque thing that was his uncle.

As he walked through the Riddle home, Voldemort felt lighter, happier than he felt in years. He fingered the ring he had stolen from his uncle. He was going to use it as one of his Horcruxes. He just needed to find out if he could make multiple Horcruxes first...

As Voldemort was about to leave, something caught his eye. A black diary with the name 'Tom Riddle' etched in gold at the bottom. He picked it up.

He did love to collect trinkets from his victims...

Holding out his uncle's wand, he muttered an incantation. His father's last name moved to the side, as 'Marvolo' imprinted itself in the middle of 'Tom' and 'Riddle'. He would use this as another Horcrux. He placed the diary in his cloak.

As he stepped into the night, he thought about his mother, Merope. She had fallen in love with the Muggle and was now dead.

And then, Voldemort realized, that love made you weak.

He swore to himself that he would never love. Anything for that matter.

Love, would be his downfall.

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_"Love is the immortal flow of energy that nourishes, _

_extends and preserves. _

_Its eternal goal is life." _

~ Smiley Blanton

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And Harry Potter is proof of that very fact.

Love, _was _Voldemort's downfall.

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**Review**_**!**_

A/N: Well, that's my first Harry Potter FanFiction, and I'm pretty proud of it. The idea's been in my head since I read HBP, so I finally decided to write it.

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